


Cruel

by ArcaneHackist



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angel in love, Angst, Character Study, Complete, One Shot, Other, Whump, Whumptober, Writing Exercise, short ramblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:21:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27181720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcaneHackist/pseuds/ArcaneHackist
Summary: They both fall, in a way— head over heels over heart.As much as he is loathe to admit it, Michael has been in love before.Never again.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 35





	Cruel

Lucifer falls in love like a rainstorm. Wild and unhinged, like those daring ones who plunged in barrels over the thundering Niagara Falls. With flame in his eyes and heart.

He doesn’t know the hurt until he sees the sky above, the deep red sunset of care and love and being wanted. Only then does he realize he’s fallen.

He truly loves only one human, yes— but he’s had his infatuations. After all, there was only one way (in his mind) to overcome the repression of his “youth.”

And as uptight as Lucifer believes Michael to be, as orderly and rule-following as Amenadiel, he could not be more wrong.

After all, they will always be alike.

———————

Michael falls in love slow. With lingering gazes and heady drinks, watching the stars and talking philosophy. The man and him drink wine and chat in Hebrew outside his hut, in the days where Michael visits him as a traveler. Denial settles as deep and warm in his stomach as the alcohol, even as the man’s hand creeps up to cradle his face.

It’s a heavy thing, love, that settles in his chest and drives him away from Earth for another bout of years. 

A woman. Selling grapes in Greece, she’d drawn him in close and fawned over his curls. Taken him home. They’d drowned in eachother that night. And though it wasn’t love, the touches burned all the same.

He walks the streets of Pompeii one day, feels the cracks in the Earth, and wonders what it’s all for as humans suffocate and die around him.

Why give him the capability to love in the first place?

London is thick with smog and reeks of humanity. He hates the cities, but loves the poets. The philosophers. The mathematicians. He falls into an easy routine with an inn owner, living a little human life for a few months before fluttering back upstairs.

Father welcomes him back. He always does, like what Michael is doing isn’t outright blasphemy. 

And so, he goes and settles every once in a while. Rome. Tokyo. New York (he keeps some of the accent, from that one). Dubai. Siberia. Venice.

And they chisel at his armor. Those warm hands, bright eyes, smooth and lively skin that wilted so quick. He falls, over and over and over. They shrivel and die like droughted plants.

Michael becomes restless.

Father stops meeting him at the gate. His great hand still helps Michael’s injured side keep up, pulling him home. But He doesn’t speak to them anymore.

And Michael stays home. In the grand and silent endless plains, sitting marble still in the prairie grass and starting to question.

He grows bitter, like the gnarled branches of an old oak seen too many winters. His heart withers in his chest to a shadow, and he takes on the gate guard job if only to keep himself from cycling through the memories of the humans he learned to love. He never sees them again.

Life is cruel, but Time is crueler.

**Author's Note:**

> This came to me at about 3am last night, absolutely smashing my writer’s block to dust and demanding to be written. This is a bit of a character study, mostly from wondering how Michael knows so much of the human world.


End file.
